AFTERMASH
by Nova Adams
Summary: The tales of the descendants of some of the MASH crew.
1. July 4th, 1968

A*F*T*E*R*MA*S*H 

July 4th, 1968 

Candlestick Park, San Francisco 

Erin "Rainbow" Hunnicutt had just turned eighteen years old in the City of Love. She was tuned in and turned on (but she hadn't dropped out yet) and anxious to spread her freaky, psychedelic wings. 

She was a little worried about what her dad would think, though. 

He was a pretty cool guy for a 48-year-old. The Hunnicutt Free Clinic near the Bridge was a favorite with flower children and street fighters alike, hippies, Yippies, and just plain street people. For a lot of the kids on the street, B.J. Hunnicutt was a father figure and a point of stability in their lives. He was the only person over 30 that it was really OK to trust. Part of this was his gentle nature and tolerance, but it was also because of the way he agreed with the kids on political issues. He had been a medic in the Korean War, and knew how wasteful political hostility could be. 

The free juice and cookies were always a hit, too. 

Even though Rainbow tended to brag about her dad a little, she was careful not to let him in on her unusual social life. He had often warned her of the dangers of the lifestyle, and to him she appeared to be a straight-laced Berkeley medical student. 

July 4th was shaping up to be a pretty good protest. From her vantage point standing on the bench, Rainbow could see all sorts of people. Longhaired folksingers carrying guitars with red-white-and-blue ribbons tied onto the pegs, Yippies in war paint and camouflage, monochromatic Black Panthers and colorful peasant-clothed hippies, old women carrying signs and small children with braids, and even a few Vietnam vets who had come to bring their brothers home. Some Diggers were passing out candles and cups of water. 

Rainbow had walked up with some of her classmates, but most of the guys had wandered off to score some weed and most of the girls had gotten bored. She couldn't blame them; there didn't seem to be anything happening. 

She felt a tap on her shoulder. "So…do you protest here often?" 

Rainbow turned around. "Scuse me, but was that supposed to be a pickup line or something? Cause I think you should know that I am a liberated woman and I don't fall for that kind of stuff." 

The man looked startled. "What, you didn't like that one? What was wrong with it—too topical?" 

Rainbow couldn't help grinning. He was sort of cute, and he clearly wasn't being serious. And—he was a vet. Pretty well-adjusted for one, too. Most of the vets she saw hanging around were either strung out on something or in wheelchairs. 

"You were in the war, huh?" 

"Yeah," he said. "A medic." 

She nodded. "My dad was in the Korean War. He was a medic too. He runs a free clinic on Bridge Street now." 

"Oh, I don't know where that is. I just got here." 

"Where are you from originally?" 

"Maine. I went back there, but I just couldn't stay…" He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, you know how it is. Everyone thought I was some kind of big hero when I was just trying to stay alive." 

Rainbow had heard the same thing from a few hundred vets when she helped out in the clinic. "So you came all the way out here." 

"I heard it was a nice place." 

"You should have been here last year," offered Rainbow. "It was really happening in 67. There are more pigs and dealers around now and it's not as safe." 

"Ain't it the truth. So what's your name?" 

"Everyone calls me Rainbow. How about you?" 

"Just nicknames, eh? You can call me Hawkeye." 

Rainbow took him back to the pad that some of her friends kept in Haight Street. She dug out some of the hash they kept in the pantry, thought better of it, and pulled out some weed. 

"Here," she said. "This is some pretty good stuff. We scored it off a Mahareshi in Chinatown." 

"Shouldn't he have been in—ah, screw it." Hawkeye took a puff off the joint and coughed. "I'm not used to this. I prefer alcohol." 

"Alcohol kills brain cells and deadens the senses," lectured Rainbow. 

"Yeah, that's why I prefer it," Hawkeye deadpanned. 

Rainbow raised an eyebrow. "You gonna bogart that all night, or can I have some?" 

"Sorry." Hawkeye passed the joint to her. 

They got high, and Hawkeye told her about the guys he had known back in the war. "This guy Klinger, he was always trying to get out on a Section Eight. Tried to fool the CO into thinking he was a cross-dresser. It never worked." 

Rainbow told him about some of her friends. "I was going out with a guy named Sky Starsword who was really into Tolkien. One day when he was tripping out of his mind, he dressed up in my grandma's fur coat and grabbed great-grandpa's sword and started screaming about killing Ringwraiths. He hit a pig with the sword and took his wedding ring, then put it on and streaked around peeing on things because he thought he was invisible." She paused. "He isn't my boyfriend anymore." 

Hawkeye thought that was hilarious. 

They made out for a while, then Rainbow suggested they screw. Hawkeye was a little surprised. "I like my cars and my women fast, but this is a little much even for me. We've only known each other for what, three hours?" 

"I am a liberated woman and I can make my own choices and I believe in free love, okay? Anyway, you're cute, and I really like your sense of humor." 

"Just making sure," said Hawkeye. He leaned over and kissed her again. Rainbow really liked the way he kissed—it wasn't slobbery or too tonguey. 

She sighed. "I think this is going to be nice." 

"This isn't the first time you've done this, is it?" Hawkeye asked. 

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to this. I've had a few boyfriends." 

Afterwards, Rainbow realized that it was later than she had thought. "Listen, I gotta go, okay? You can stay here for a while if you like." 

"I should get going too," Hawkeye said. "Buddy of mine invited me over for dinner." 

When Rainbow got home, she brushed her hair, took a shower, and changed into a polo shirt and chinos. She was now Erin and had to help her mother with the pot roast. 

As she went downstairs, Dad came in the door. "How was your day?" she asked as she kissed him on the cheek. All very heartwarming and middle American, she thought. 

"It was crazy. I got a bunch of kids from that protest in Candlestick Park. Apparently there was a riot, and the cops broke it up. There was tear gas everywhere…" He shook his head. "It's almost worse than it was in the war." 

"Yeah. Um, Mom made pot roast and mashed potatoes for dinner." 

"Great. I hope you made extra. One of the guys I was in the M*A*S*H with is in town for a few nights, and I thought it might be a good idea to give him a real home-cooked meal." 

Erin shrugged. "Fine with me." 

Dad went into the living room to read the paper, like he did every night. Erin followed him to snitch the comics. 

After a few minutes the doorbell rang. "Erin honey, would you get that?" Dad called. 

"Yeah, yeah." Erin opened the door and almost lost her balance. It was that vet she had met at the park.  "Did you follow me home or something?" she hissed.

"Rainbow? Wait, I thought you lived in that apartment…" Hawkeye looked extremely confused. 

"Some of my friends do! And they let me use it! And you told me you were a Vietnam vet." 

"I said I was a vet. I never said which war." 

"What the hell are you doing here anyway?" 

"Having dinner, hopefully." Hawkeye sniffed. "Do I smell pot roast?" 

"Hawkeye!" Dad was standing right behind Erin. "God, it's great to see you." He punched the vet on the shoulder. 

Hawkeye grinned weakly. "Great to see you too, Beej." 

"Come on inside, Hawk. Dinner's almost ready. Say, have you met my daughter Erin?" 

"It's great to meet you, Mr. Hawkeye," Erin muttered through clenched teeth. 

Dinner was long and weird. Erin tried to avoid meeting anyone's eyes, but Hawkeye kept giving her weird looks. Dad was cheerful and didn't seem to grok what was going on. 

After dinner, Dad and Hawkeye went into the living room to catch up and reminisce. Erin stayed behind to help Mom with the dishes. 

"You were quieter than usual tonight, Erin," said Mom. "What's wrong?" 

Erin busied herself with scrubbing a spoon. Mom was a little savvier than Dad. She knew a little about Erin's double life, and while she was a little disapproving, she did try to be tolerant. 

"You know the guy that Dad invited over?" she asked finally. 

"What about him?" Mom asked. 

"Well, I met him in the park today. I thought he was a Vietnam vet. And, um, I took him back to that apartment that Sky and Amanita rented." 

Mom bit her lip. "Erin, I warned you about this kind of thing." 

"Yeah, but he was really cute, and funny. And I thought he was younger!" Erin sighed. 

Mom looked at her sideways. "Well…was it any good?" 

"Mom!" Erin was shocked. 

"What? You're young, Erin, and you live in this wonderful age where you don't have to worry about the kind of things I did. When I was your age, if I had done what you just did…well, I wouldn't have. We didn't do those kind of things, and if anyone had, her life would have been effectively over. But now you can do these kind of things and you don't have to worry about what anyone thinks. And honey, if you want to do those kind of things, you can! I just wish I was your age now." 

"So what, are you living vicariously through me or something?" 

"If you don't mind," said Mom. 

Dessert was strawberry rhubarb pie and ice cream that Erin had picked up from a store on Haight-Ashbury that had just opened up. There had been a shift in the atmosphere—Dad was still oblivious and Hawkeye was still a little weirded out, but Erin was having fun. 

"So Hawkeye," she asked. "Did you ever get married? Dad's told me some stories about you during the war. Apparently you were quite the ladies' man." 

"No, I um, never found, you know." Hawkeye stuffed a huge piece of pie into his mouth. "Peg, this is really good. What kind of ice cream is this?" 

"It's called Lennon Lemon. It's named after that Beatle, the one that just married that Japanese artist. Erin picked it up on Haight Street today." 

"When were you on Haight Street?" Dad asked. 

"Um, I went to pick up some friends." Erin stood up and picked up her dishes. "Can I take anyone else's plate?" She grinned at Hawkeye, who nearly choked. 

"Oh, Peg. I nearly forgot. Is it all right if Hawkeye sleeps here tonight? You know, a nice warm bed in a nice house…" 

Mom bit her lip. "I think it might not be a good idea. Do we even have room?" 

"We've got that guest room, don't we? Come on, it'll be great. Anyway…" He lowered his voice. "I don't trust the hotels around here." 

"Well…all right. I'll make up the bed. Erin, come and help me." 

As Erin followed Mom up the bedroom, she heard Dad talking to Hawkeye. "I can take tomorrow off and show you the sights. It'll be great." 

Erin couldn't sleep. Her room was right next to Hawkeye's, and she could hear him tossing and turning. 

She opened the door to his room. "Hawkeye? Are you still awake?" 

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered. 

"Yeah, well, I got a good way to solve that." Erin lifted her nightgown over her head. 

Hawkeye's eyes got wide. "Your parents are in the next room. This might not be a good idea." 

"It's fine. Mom doesn't mind, and Dad's totally out of it." She hopped onto the end of the bed. 

"You're a little young for this, aren't you?" 

"That didn't seem to bother you before." 

"Well, before I didn't know that you were the teenage daughter of my old war buddy. That almost seems…incestuous." 

"I don't care and neither should you." Erin crawled up to where Hawkeye sat gripping the sheets and slipped her hand under the covers. 

"Oh…" Hawkeye closed his eyes. "No. This is most definitely not a good idea." 

"Oh, shut up." 

A sigh. "Erin…" 

"Call me Rainbow." 


	2. October 19, 1991

A*F*T*E*R*M*A*S*H 

October 19, 1991 

Wadi Goqba, Kuwait 

Brian Winchester was bored. 

His unit had been camped for two weeks in this godforsaken desert hellhole. It was 130 degrees in the shade, and it didn't help that everyone was still required to wear full uniform at all times. Even his sergeant, who was a complete and total hardass, had given up on the drills and exercises after the first three days. 

Nothing was happening, anyway. There might have been troops liberating grateful Kuwaitis and firebombing Saddam Hussein elsewhere in the Middle East, but Wadi Goqba was dead. Brian was understandably pissed about that. Spurred on by optimistic Army commercials, he had enlisted in order to receive a shitload of medals that would get his mom off his back about doing something constructive with his life, and maybe impress that Linda chick back home who thought she was hot stuff because she had been shortlisted as a dancer on a Madonna video. 

Of course, you had to actually do something in order to earn medals. And Brian wasn't sure that there was any medal awarded for "drinking fifteen warm Cokes in a row without puking or burping" or "memorizing every single damn guitar riff on the London Calling cassette". Most of the guys had brought girlie magazines and playing cards in order to pass the time, and there were even a few geeks that had started a Dungeons and Dragons game. The only thing that Brian had brought was his trusty Walkman and his tapes. Unfortunately, he hadn't brought enough batteries. 

He was currently lying on his cot reading his mail. There was a letter from his mom, talking about how proud she was of him and chatting about her azaleas. One from his little sister, raving about her new hairdo and the latest Prince album and asking him where he had hidden his Atari. Like he was really going to tell her. That grubby little brat wasn't getting her paws on his treasured game system. 

Then there was the letter from his great-uncle Charles. Brian was happy about that. The old man was getting a little senile, according to his dad, but he still had some good things to say. 

"My dear grand-nephew," the letter began. "I cannot tell you how very proud of you I am that you enlisted in the Armed Forces in order to serve your country. It is one of the noblest things a young man can do with his life. 

            "Having said that, I sincerely wish you had not enlisted. Do you not recall the stories I told you about the horror and privation of war? An Army tent is no place for a young man as sensitive and intelligent as yourself. 

"Your generation is fortunate: the President has no draft policy. In my time, if I had been able to avoid service, I would have, but I had no choice. The war we were fighting at the time had nothing to do with the security of America, and neither does the one you are fighting. 

            "Even though I do not approve of what you are doing, I am very proud of you for having done so. I realize that may seem paradoxical, but it is all true. I dearly hope you will be able to come home soon." 

Brian folded up the letter. The last time he had seen Charles was three years ago, when the family had made the pilgrimage from Los Angeles to Boston. The old man had told him about the war in Korea in the 1950s, a time that Brian had previously associated with poodle skirts and fin tailed cars. 

He hadn't even known there had been a war then. Nobody except for the soldiers in it had paid that much attention to it. Charles said that was because World War II had just ended. Everyone wanted to be happy about the postwar era; nobody wanted to know about yet another was that was going on. One war had been enough. 

That, Brian thought, was in sharp contrast with the Gulf War. It had only been going on for a couple of weeks, but it was huge news. People couldn't get enough of it. It was all over CNN. 

Charles had his own theory about that, too. He thought the problem was that there hadn't been enough happening in the world that people could get really excited over. "There is nothing like a good war to bring the hearts and minds of our countrymen together," he had written. "With the advent of so much pop culture, particularly this MTV thing your younger sister seems so enamored with, every world event seems to be so remote from everyday life that nobody is particularly interested in it. After all, who in America, besides a few old men like me, really cared when the Berlin Wall fell and Communism was at last defeated? No, the young people of your generation are so self-absorbed that nothing affects them except that which affects them personally." 

Brian had originally taken that as an insult, until he remembered that his uncle didn't really count him as one of the self-absorbed new generation. During that visit to Boston, Charles had taken him to see the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Brian had dutifully sat through it, and had even liked it a little. Later, Charles had complimented him on being so cultured, and told him that he was a welcome change from the empty-headed teenagers he saw all around him. 

In Charles's opinion, people were starved for relevant happenings in their life. He particularly blamed MTV. No longer, he said, could young men and women participate in making the news they saw all around them; it was all about celebrities anymore. The disaffected young men and women were so amazed by something they themselves could do, instead of watching it on television, that they were making a disproportionate fuss over something that wasn't theirs in the first place. 

The only problem, Brian thought, was that the stuff that Charles thought was supposed to take the place of TV was the biggest thing on TV. And in the newspapers. And the radio. And pretty much everywhere else. 

There had been soldier profiles in the paper every day. People Brian didn't even know had been sending him care packages. Some guys from his base had even been interviewed on CNN… 

The perky interviewer girl tossed back her hair and smiled at the camera. In any other war she would have been a welcome reminder of home, a vacation from the unending filth and fighting of the masculine privation of war. Here, with portable satellite TVs and female volunteers, she was just another annoying civilian who had no idea what was going on. 

"We're here in Wadi Goqba in Kuwait, where our brave troops are struggling to liberate the country from under the grasp of Saddam Hussein. Now, a little background on this place. In the 12th century, it was a stopping point for travelers on the Spice Route. The name is Chaldean for—" 

"Hi, I'm Sergeant Alda A. Pepper of the Blue Meanies!" Brian's sergeant interrupted her in the nick of time. "These guys are my squad. Say hi, men! And women," he added, referring to Heather, the base's computer technician and lone female. "We've been here for, eh, about a week." 

"Fantastic! And who are these brave young soldiers?" 

"Well, this is Derek, over here. He takes care of the Humvees. And this is Kevin. He's surveillance. And this here is Brian." The sergeant pulled Brian to his side. 

In the harsh glare of the camera light, Brian's blonde hair shone white and his skin looked pale. He grinned wanly. "Hi," he said. 

"So Brian, where are you from?" A camera was immediately shoved in his face. 

"Um, I'm from Los Angeles." 

"So what's it like out here?" 

"Well, it's really hot. And it's really dry." 

"Would you like to say anything?" 

"Yeah. I just want to say hi to my great-uncle, Charles. Hi!" Brian waved. 

"You looked really lame, man." Kevin rewound the tape. Brian watched himself go backwards, take back the wave and see his words come out of his mouth, be pushed away from the sergeant's side. 

"I think he looks fine." Derek squatted on the ground near Brian's cot. "I mean, nobody is going to look very good on TV without a ton of makeup." 

"Yeah," said Heather. "Actually, he looks pretty damn cute." 

"Aw, Baby looks so cute." Kevin pinched Brian's cheeks. "What a sweet widdle boy." 

"Shut up, man." Derek whacked Kevin across the head. 

"You look like you could be a rock star or something." Heather snuggled up to Brian. He inched away from her. Heather was totally hot, but she really wasn't Brian's type. 

Kevin wiggled over to Heather. "Hey hot mama, why don't we go on a date tonight?" 

Heather wrinkled her nose. "Where to?" 

"I was thinking we could go out to dinner at a fancy restaurant and then to a movie. Afterwards, we could drive up to Lover's Lane and stargaze." 

Derek snickered. 

"All right, I mean we can swap MREs and watch Wolf Blitzer give away military secrets. Then we can take a tank out to the desert and watch the burning oil wells." 

"How sweet. I think I would rather just stay here and, I don't know, watch this again." Heather cued the VCR. "Brian, this is really pretty good. You should go on MTV." 

Brian laughed. He was so lucky to have such good friends. 

Heather had finally agreed to go out with Kevin. They had taken the Jeep out to a sand dune where, Kevin claimed, there were lovely cacti with little red flowers. Derek and Brian were left behind. 

Brian was sitting on top of a tank when Derek climbed up. "Hey," he said, clambering into place and settling himself down. 

"Hi." The sun had set, and it was getting sort of cold. Brian shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso. 

"You cold?" Derek took off his jacket and placed it around Brian's shoulders. It was still warm from Derek's body heat. Brian sighed and closed his eyes. 

"The view from up here is great, isn't it?" It was already quite dark. The horizon was a red line in the desert. There was an occasional orange-yellow flare from an oil well that had just gone up. 

"It's nice." Derek leaned against him. 

There was total quiet for a few minutes as the two boys stared at nothing. Finally, Derek broke the silence. "So, you come here often?" 

Brian laughed. "Yeah, all the time. I usually listen to my Clash tapes up here." 

"Yeah, "Rock The Casbah" is a good song for the war." Derek put his arm around Brian. 

Brian nodded. "You know, there are times when I wish I never had to leave this place." 

"Why? I would think anyone would want to get out of here." 

Brian shrugged. "I don't know. I guess…well, it's because of you guys. You and Kevin and Heather. I've never had friends like you guys, people I could talk to and just hang out with. And I know that when this war is over, I'm never going to see any of you again." 

Derek squeezed him. "You know that's not true, Bri. There'll be reunions and stuff. And if we all stay in the Army, we'll probably see each other all the time…" He trailed off. "That's not what you meant, is it?" 

Brian shook his head. "I really like this, you know? It feels like there isn't even anyone else in the unit, just us four. And we can just stay here forever." 

"I wish I could stay here forever, too," Derek murmured. He shifted to face Brian. "I really like being with you, Bri. Just sitting here on the tank, watching the desert burn…it's really nice." 

Brian didn't say anything. After a while, Derek jumped off the tank and went back into the tent. "Goodnight, Bri." 

Brian fished out his Walkman and slipped on his headphones. He turned on the tape player and leaned back against the turret, letting the familiar opening chords of "London Calling" wash over him as the fires of Kuwait warmed his eyes but not his heart. 


	3. April 14th, 2056: Luna Base

A*F*T*E*R*M*A*S*H 

April 14th, 2056 

Luna Base

Amanda O'Reilly sat at the console, her eyes squinched up tight beneath her thick glasses, searching for the small red dot that meant there was an enemy ship in the vicinity. In her left hand was an almost-empty cup of coffee, from which she occasionally took long sips without realizing that there was nothing left but dregs; under her right hand was a keyboard console. The clunky realtime-sim goggles were giving her a headache, and the molded plastic was making her head sweat and itch. She had been patrolling this particular sector of space for five hours straight, but she didn't really care, just as long as she could blast some Bugs. 

There was a disturbance in the upper right-hand field of vision. She tensed up, anticipating the amalgamation of red pixels that would come from…just…right…there. She tapped the FIRE button on the console, instantly obliterating the alien ship as it edged into the picture. 

The image flickered out. Her shift was up. 

White letters appeared in the center of the screen. 

SHIPS BLASTED: 36 

BUGS KILLED: 47 

AVERAGE REACTION TIME: 0.1 SECONDS 

ACCURACY: 100% 

CONGRATULATIONS USER 1814118-4077: AMANDA O'REILLY 

The programming team had been working on making the interface seem like a video game. The official reason was that seeing one's statistics would improve morale give an incentive to work harder, but Amanda knew that the real reason was that it was a lot more fun to play an old-fashioned arcade game for five hours straight than to bore yourself watching empty space. 

Amanda grinned, flipping her goggles up. She was exhausted and exhilarated, and she needed a shower. 

"So, how'd you do?" Jenny Blake, the base commander, was standing over her shoulder. 

"Take a look for yourself." Amanda indicated the stat screen. 

Jenny whistled. "Shit! You've been—"                     

"Racking 'em up," Amanda finished for her. It was a little game she played, finishing other people's sentences. It might have been commented upon in a normal citizen, but in the hackers and computer geeks that now made up the majority of the Terran army, a little eccentricity was considered a healthy thing. 

Anyway, it impressed her colleagues, and it was easy to do. People could be so predictable—it was easy to tell what they were going to say next.  

"Yeah, exactly. You know, you've got the best stats of anyone here." Jenny clapped her on the shoulder. "Why don't you come get a cup of coffee with me? I want to talk to you." 

Amanda carefully added five sugars to her coffee and sat down with Jenny. "So what's up?" 

Jenny sipped her brew. "Manda, you ever been esper-tested?" 

Amanda nodded. "Yeah, once." 

"Then why—" 

"Why aren't I in the esp-corps? Not strong enough. Apparently, I'm a latent-intuitive-generalized. That doesn't do anybody any good." 

Jenny frowned. "That's sort of weird. Most people with any psi ability at all have some kind of focused ability. How'd you end up a lowgrade?" 

"Well, my abilities are hereditary, not mutated." 

"But there isn't any history of psi abilities in your family at all. I've checked the files." 

"You must have not gone back far enough." Amanda tried the coffee. It was a lot better than she was used to. Well, they had a shiny new caff machine in the officer's lounge, instead of the crummy BrewMaster she used at home. "My mom always told me that my great-grandfather had the same abilities I did. He was in the Korean War, over a hundred years ago." 

Jenny nodded. "Now, he's the only member of your family that's ever been in the Army, right? I mean, besides you." 

"I think so. Why?" 

"And he's also the only member of your family that's had these abilities." 

"So far as I know." Amanda lowered her Styrofoam cup. "Why is that important?" 

Jenny leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Mandy dear, you may be the main subject of a top-secret study in the next few weeks. I got the memo yesterday." 

Amanda sat up. "No kidding! That's…wow. What's the study about?" 

"Well, some comichead in Intel decided that latent psi abilities are sharpened during periods of sustained hostile activity. I mean, when there's a lot of hostile energy going on around you for a long time. He thinks that the stress and emotional energy somehow sharpen the psi. I think he's full of bull, whoever he is, but the government has asked me to supply any suspected latent espers I might have, and you're really the only one that fits." 

"That does sound like bull," Amanda admitted. "So you're supplying me. What does that mean?" 

Jenny shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Um. Therein lies the problem, you see. I'm not actually sure what exactly they want you to do, and—" 

"—you're not even authorized to ask about it." Amanda nodded. "That top-secret, huh?" 

"'Fraid so. Anyway, they're going to be starting…whatever it is they're doing next week. In the meantime, I highly suggest that you go home and get some sleep. Take a few days off." 

"Days off? Wow, I haven't had one of those since…Wait, who's going to take over for me? I know we're short already." 

"No problem, babe. I can cover for you for a week or so. Actually, it'll be a nice change…I haven't sat down at a console for years." She grinned. "Probably won't be nearly as good as you, but I'm pretty sure I can still handle a joystick. I was pretty competent in my day." 

Amanda nodded. The break was almost over, and it was time to go. She stood up. "Jenny, thank you for the opportunity. And the coffee." 

Jenny downed the dregs of her brew. "No problem, babe. Just go home and get some rest, okay? And say hi to Norah for me." 

Amanda opened the door to her flat. "Norah, I'm home." Norah came running up to greet her. Amanda tickled her under the chin. "Hello, precious. Did you miss Mommy?" Norah licked her face and said, "Meow." 

Amanda put the orange tabby down and wandered into the kitchen. "Let's get you something to eat, okay? But first Mommy's gotta fix herself a snack." 

Jenny had given Norah to Amanda for her birthday a few years ago. Amanda had just started at the compound then, and was still homesick, even though her flat was in the same building with the rest of the kids at her base. After Amanda had brought home the kitten, the little apartment had seemed like home. Norah knew when to comfort Amanda and when to leave her alone, and Amanda could always tell whether Norah was hungry or tired or wanted to play. 

Norah followed Amanda into the kitchen, mewing. "Hold on, honey." Amanda pulled some crackers and cheese out of the cupboard and popped some into her mouth. "Yum. Okay, we got…" She glanced at Norah's food bowl. It was still full. "You haven't eaten what I already gave you." 

Norah sniffed at the bowl. 

Amanda bent down and inspected the bowl. "Oh, I see." She tipped the dish of food into the garbage. "Someone's a little tired of the same old same old, eh? Hey, in a few days I'm going to be getting a raise, and it'll be smoked salmon from now on." She got a can of tuna out of the cupboard and got out the can opener. The plastic lid sizzled as the laser cut through it. 

Amanda was woken up at 4 AM by the insistent beeping of her message center. It was the sharp buzz of an extremely urgent message, the kind you get when your mom breaks her leg and doesn't want to bother the police. 

"Ms. O'Reilly, this is Luna Base Intelligence Center. We would like to see you at the Base Center at 0600. We will send a vehicle to pick you up at 0500 hours." 

Amanda just rolled over and went back to sleep. Unfortunately, the Humvee was at her door before she woke up again. 

Norah jumped on her chest. "Mraaaaaaaaaaah." 

"What? Honey, you just ate…" Amanda glanced blearily at the clock. "Ah, yiff. I'm late." 

There was a pounding at the door. "Ma'am, we have to go. Would you please open the door?" 

Amanda dashed to the door in her pajamas. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be there in a second." She opened the door. "Could you just hold on a second? Let me…" Someone pulled her out the door and kicked it shut. 

"Ma'am, you will have to come with us. We are already behind schedule." 

"But Jenny said you weren't going to be ready for another week." 

"She was misinformed. Anyway, you're an esper. You should have seen this coming." 

"I don't have that kind of power. Can we stop at a McDonald's? I could really use some coffee." 

"No." 

The ride to the compound was short and bumpy. After they got there, Amanda went through a series of tests that didn't seem to accomplish anything. She was given a blue jumpsuit and a shot of something that instantly cleared her head, then taken out to the tarmac. 

She climbed into the jet and studied the controls. They were exactly the same as they were on her console. There was a good reason for that; the jets were, in fact, remotely controlled by the consoles. 

Space got sort of boring after a few hours, and Amanda was relieved when the sector finally appeared on her monitor. 

She flew around for a few minutes, checking out the perimeters. Nothing for half a parsec…wait. There was something at… 

A BUGSHIP! It was coming her way fast. There was nothing on the monitor, yet she _knew_ that it was there. 

A white speck appeared on the monitor. There it was! Amanda grinned and flew toward it. Soon she and the Bugship were engaged in battle, swooping around each other in a dizzying display of agility. Amanda had never flown before, but thanks to her hours of practice on the console, she felt like she was doing something that she had been doing all her life. 

The Bug squeezed off a phaser beam at Amanda, who avoided it by a long shot. She tightened her grip on the little red button…and… 

PHOOOOOOOOOOOWM 

The Bugship exploded. 

As the debris flew past her, Amanda felt 

_the shell of her abdomen cracked, splitting painfully as the spongy flesh ripped, sending waves of pain through her body. Her legs were ripped off one by one as the vacuum of space claimed them. Bits of metal crashed against her body, creating little craters in her fragile body. As the shell of the ship dissolved around her, the cells in her head contracted into themselves and then exploded _

"NOOOOAAAIIIEEERRRRGGGGGHHH!" Amanda screamed and clutched her head. Mercifully, everything quickly went black. 

She woke up to find Jenny standing over her. "Manda, are you okay?" 

Amanda groaned. "How did…" 

"We were monitoring you, honey. It's okay." Jenny squatted down to Amanda's level. "What happened out there?" 

"Jenny, I _died_. I felt it." Amanda struggled to get up, noticing her surroundings. She was back in her flat. 

"You didn't die. That was the Bug that died. You blacked out for no reason at all." 

"I felt it," Amanda insisted. "I mean, my skin cracked open…" Jenny was staring at her. "What?" 

"Honey," said Jenny softly, "they didn't test you for animal empathy, did they? When you had your tests the first time." 

Norah jumped into Amanda's arms. She stroked her absentmindedly. "No. They don't usually test for it. Why?" 

Jenny nodded, as if something had confirmed her suspicions. "I'm going to have to talk to the testers, have you reevaluated." She got up. 

The next day, Amanda tendered her resignation from the Bug Patrol. She had decided to become a medic. For the Bug side. 


End file.
